Please Go Away
by yarnybear
Summary: I totally messed up this story to make it viewable for readers...The plot is messed up, not the way it's supposed to go. Anyways, it takes place after Arthur defeats Sunday. Some violence. NOT UPDATING ANYMORE. I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO.
1. Introduction

The crowd cheered. The sun in sky burned brilliantly. And all of it was lost to Sat.

She stood, ankle deep in sand. The temperature was high, enough to make a sheen of sweat shine on her face. Her arms ached, from the heavy, double bladed, three foot long sword in her hand. A kite shaped shield hung from sturdy leather straps on the other.

Sat shifted her stance. Suddenly, the noise of the crowd increase. It was now a very loud roar. She had been trained to ignore it. _Forget everything except the fight_. It had been beaten into her, with cruel, metal barbed whips.

A door had opened, and a figure moved into the amphitheater. Sat watched, her trained eyes picking up the weaponry. A trident and a weighted net. Must be from the Sea.

The figure moved closer. It was a lithe, graceful woman, a Denizen. She moved slowly, because of the cumbersome net.

Sat stood silently, watching the woman approach. When she was about ten feet away, Sat darted forward.

Speed and flexibility had always been easy for Sat. She put her skills to good use. With a few quick thrusts, the iron weighted net lay useless, cut to shreds.

The woman dropped the net. She held the trident is a purposeful two-handed grip. It would make her attacks stronger and faster.

Sat held still. She was going to let her opponent make the first move.

With a cry, the woman twisted forward, the eight foot trident swinging dangerously. It glanced off the edge of Sat's shield.

While the woman was withdrawing her trident for another stroke, Sat moved in.

With some devastating slashes, she hit the tines of the trident, careful not to get her sword stuck.

And with another quick thrust, she twisted the trident right out of the woman's hands.

The woman gasped. She had lost.

And Sat knew it. She didn't hesitate, going for the kill.

Soon the pale golden sand was stained with red. It was quickly absorbed.

The audience was cheering louder, enjoying the violence. It held no enjoyment for Sat. She had seen too many fights, too many lost.

She looked up. A man in the imperial box of the amphitheater caught her attention. He was garbed in the finest clothes, and extremely tall Denizens accompanied him.

_I have no use for those lousy idiots. _Sat looked away. But before she did, she noticed that the fancy man was not smiling, unlike all of his companions. He did not approve.

A loud, hoarse call woke her up.

"Sat, get back here! Your turn's up." It was Madame Roiseour, her mistress.

Sat walked slowly to her, grateful that her fight was over. She wasn't scheduled for another until two weeks.

She passed under a heavy wooden gate. Into the cool stone rooms under the amphitheater seats. The darkness closed over her.


	2. Flashback

Sat was lying on her bunk. She was tired after the fight. Sat found her mind drifting…

_She was a servant for the blacksmith, twelve years old at the time. The blacksmith was a horrid old woman. Fat and mean tempered, no one argued with her, because she was loud and scolded. _

_The blacksmith had gone for tea, or something, Sat couldn't remember. But she did remember working the forges, fanning the embers. When the blacksmith had gone, Sat was bored._

_She had picked up the hammer and was forging a small dagger. It seemed very simple, watching the blacksmith make one. It was easy, so easy. She got the blade perfectly thin and strong. She folded the metal over and over itself, strengthening it._

_The door had slammed open. Madame Roiseour was in the threshold, staring. _

And from then on, Sat was the one who made the blades for all the girls. The blacksmith had been sacked. Sat was provided with a room to herself, and some pocket money every month was provided.

Sat lay on bunk, staring at the ceiling.

_At the beginning, Sat just made daggers and swords. It was simple, and Sat had nimble fingers. But before long, she was adding decorations and ornamentation. Then battle axes, hatchets, and pikes were made. _

_People gave her extra money for a nice, well-made, custom sword. Sat hoarded everything she could get: bits of metal, money, anything._

_Then Sat's armor fell apart after use for three years. She decided to make her own. She was fast, and she wanted to keep her advantage. She chose leather over plate steel. She made thin but strong metal cuffs for her forearms and shins. And finely tooled leather sandals for comfort and flexibility._

_Sat wanted to protect her face, so she made a mask. It tied with a ribbon at the back, bought at the market and spelled for resistance and strength._

_When she was finished, it was a marvel. Silver, her favorite color, was used. Delicate silver wire decorated the breastplate, which laced in the back. The sandals were silver, and oiled to perfection. The mask was silver, and plain. Sat had gotten a Nothing Sorcerer to magic to so it would never shatter or dent. It had cost a small fortune, but worth it._

_Sat was the envy of the parade ground and training field. Everyone admired her armor, and some were quite envious._

_It served her well against the girls of other houses._

_But she had no sword._

Sat was on the bunk, memories flashing by. Then she decided to go to sleep.


	3. Scarlet Pain

Over the next few days, Sat practiced her weaponry. She was one of the best fighters in the house.

Sat was trained at first at the sword, just a plain wooden one. And then shields and plate armor were added. Sat had always hated armor. She hated practice too, but one had to do whatever she could to survive. She didn't want_ her_ blood spilled in the arena.

Over the years, Sat trained herself in all sorts of weapons. She wanted the advantage and the ability to protect herself.

So she was skilled in throwing daggers, swordwork, spearwork, archery, quarterstaff, axes, scythes, and sickles. Sat would observe unfamiliar weapons and try to learn them.

Then it was Sat's turn again in the amphitheater. She hated it, hated the crowds, the blood, the killing. But sometimes, when she knew that she'd win, she'd get a sort of battle rage, a love of killing. It was hard to control.

Madame Roiseour announced that she had to fight Scarlet.

Scarlet was the number three champion in all the houses in the Upper House. Scarlet was bloodthirsty, and strong. She fought for one of the more prosperous houses, and had the finest plate steel armor and weapons. Her heavy broadsword could cleave a hole straight through Sat's light shield.

The day of the fight dawned. The sun shined brilliantly, announcing that there would be uncomfortable heat later on. And the amphitheater was packed.

Sat was nervous. She had never lost a fight, never. And she didn't want today to be her first. She paced in the armoring room. Then Madame Roiseour called her name. Sat got her sandals on quickly, and with some hesitation, slipped a dagger between the straps. It would lessen some flexibility, but might be useful if she got disarmed.

Madame Roiseour pushed her through the gates, onto the sand. She was the last to fight; the sand was stained, but had been recovered with fresh unsuccessfully.

The assistants stood at the side, their hooks ready to pull in a body.

Scarlet was already on the sand, her bronze helmet gleaming in the sun, her horsehair plume shifting in the slight wind.

Sat ran forwards, her borrowed sword at the ready. Scarlet moved forward, too. She was not as quick as Sat, burdened with her heavy oxhide shield and armor.

Scarlet made the first move, her sword whistling through the air. Sat ducked.

She saw the man again, the fancy clothed Denizen. He was arguing with a platinum blonde lady with yellow wings…

Those wings, certainly expensive, and beautiful, too. But strength could be added…

Scarlet's bronze blade caught the light.

Sat parried, then thrusted with her short sword. She was angry at herself for forgetting to tune out everything except the fight.

_Clang! _Scarlet's sword crashed into Sat's, knocking it right out of her hands.

Sat was weaponless, and Scarlet was advancing menacingly.

Sat was surprised, and Scarlet took advantage of that. She swung at Sat's thigh. Scarlet wanted to cripple her, and finish her off, to the delight of the crowd.

Pain, pain that made her forget everything, make her give up….

Blood poured down Sat's leg, blue blood that trickled and stained the sand, coloring her sandals with it…

The sandals!

Quickly, Sat pulled her dagger out. Hiding it behind her, she feigned weakness.

Scarlet was strong, but wasn't very smart, and Sat was definitely going to take advantage of that.

Scarlet moved forwards, knowing that she was going to have an easy win.

Sat gritted her teeth against the pain of her wound and threw her dagger.

Her dagger was made in her forges, strengthened steel and magic, thin as a leaf and as light.

It flew straight, hitting Scarlet in the chink between the helmet and breastplate. Scarlet wavered, and her sword dropped to the ground. Then she crumpled.

The crowd roared….

Sat wasn't so sure of anything; her head hurt so terribly.

And she remembered lying on the ground, staring at the sun.

The pain of her thigh wound faded out….


	4. Hospital Scene

Sat woke up with a searing pain her thigh. She felt disjointed from reality, probably from some kind of drug they had fed her.

She was in a sterile, white hospital bed in a sterile, white room. This was probably the sick bay. She had never been in it before, because she had never been hurt as badly as this.

She thought about how she had lost, how that man in the fancy clothes, with his brown hair bleached golden by the sun at the tips….

He had no right to be where he didn't belong. Rich dandies like him should stay in their office. He ought to-

A twinge of pain brought her back.

She should be thinking of fixing her weaknesses, so she would never, ever, be hurt again.

Her sword. It had failed her. She needed a new weapon, something unexpected. The answer came to her: double sickles of silver.

And her armor, it would need improvement. A skirt of leather strips, held together by silver links, just like the Secondary Realm gladiators.

And those wings that the blonde Superior Denizen was wearing. She could get a pair second hand at the market, maybe fix them up. After all, the rules stated that the fighters could use anything they were good at that were provided by their house. And Sat would fully take advantage of that.

So she drifted back into her drug induced sleep….


	5. Night Fight with a Twist

As soon as Sat was well enough to leave the sick bay, she gathered up all her money. She was going forward with her plan.

So, at the market, she bought bars of the strongest steel, ingots of the finest silver, the best tanned leather, and pair of second hand, gently worn white wings.

As an afterthought, she bought a nice black cloak, trimmed in silver. It was a luxury, but Sat thought she deserved it.

Back in her forge room, Sat made a pair of curved, matched blades. She carved two wooden handles for the sickles. The blades could fold into the handles, so to everyone else it seemed short wooden sticks.

She coated the steel blades with silver, and poured a bit of Nothing onto it. This would give them strength and endurance.

With the wings, she covered each feather in steel, making them sharp and dangerous. Sat also coated them liberally with Nothing. This made a pair of wings that had the strength of dozens of knifes layered on top of each other. The thin steel covering would make it light, so she could fly. And the Nothing gave it magical properties, so when she put them on, she could will them to be invisible to watchers.

Sat stitched the leather strips together, and added a chain belt with the last of the silver. She made it so it could be hung over the shoulder as a baldric, or around the waist.

Sat was elated. Her expensive armor and weapons were finally finished, and she wanted to test it. Her next fight was weeks away, and she wanted something worth her while.

Sat had heard about the thieves in the alley at night, and they were smart and wily. So she decided it would be them.

An hour to midnight Sat wore her cloak over her wings and tied her sickles to her belt. She snuck over the living compounds' roofs and over the gates. She was giddy with excitement.

When she reached the alleys off some of the more disreputable streets, she heard screams and shouting. Shadows seemed to flow out of the cracks in the pavement, forming hideous monstrosities.

The creatures were deformed, with too many limbs, or too little. They hopped their way toward her.

Sat pulled out her sickles, the blades coming out of the wood with a swift flick of her wrists.

The creatures hissed at her, and Sat knew they must be Nithlings or some other sort of Nothing creature.

She beheaded one, two, a dozen of them, but more and more seemed to form from the cobbles.

She needed reinforcements, but there was no one there to help her.

A figure in armor that glittered in the moonlight stepped near her, and she was about to decapitate it, but it whispered to her, "Nay."

It, or he, unsheathed his sword. It was black, with a circular pommel and sharp hilt, like two clock hands joined together.

The blade flashed, and many Nithlings lost their heads. Sat was awed by the power. With her morale restored, she hacked at the Nithlings with renewed ferocity, and soon there were no more.

The man in the armor removed his helm and sheathed his sword. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Sat saw that it was the fancy man from the arena.

"I must be gone", she croaked out, and ran. Her black cloak fanned out behind her. She jumped up, and her silver wings opened. They spread out as she flew away from _him_.

When she got back to her rooms, she took off her armor and weapons and dropped them in the chest at the foot of her bunk.

Her hands trembling, she hung up her cloak and fell onto her bunk, fatigued.


	6. Marta's Announcement

Sat had about a week until her next fight. She practiced a lot, to get out the aches of pain in her thigh. She had a huge, knotted scar on her right thigh, which was slowly turning silver as it healed. It was lumpy and disturbing, and Sat tried to ignore it.

She thought back on how she fought the Nithlings. The silver coating on her blades was probably why she wasn't dead right now.

Sat was just proficient at other weapons. She was best at her sickles. And she would use that to her advantage.

The next day there would be an unofficial practice match between her house, House d'Orpheus, and its rival house, House of the Crimson Banner.

It would be a Gift of Mercy fight, where no one was killed, and minimal maiming. Sat wanted to practice against someone new, someone whose tactics she did not know.

So Sat was to fight Marta. Marta was tall, in the customary red of the Crimson Banner. The Crimson Banner fighters had red shields and standards; the House d'Orpheus had a brown lyre superimposed on a white ground.

Marta was tall and tanned, in a red tunic and dyed leather breeches. She wore knee high boots, also in the crimson of her house.

Marta was friendly, if a bit gruff. The first thing she did when she met Sat was to shake her hand with her callused fingers. Her grip was strong and sure.

Sat's hand was sweaty from the heat and excitement.

Marta and Sat circled each other warily. Marta's long sword hung easily from her muscled arms. Sat's sickles were folded into the handles. Marta made the first move, a deadly lunge with her sword.

The sword bounced off Sat's sickle handles, which were held in an "X" position. Sat knocked the sword away.

With a twist of her wrist, the sickle blades popped from the little slots in the handles. Sat parried Marta's attacks. She sent her blades whistling towards Marta's head.

Marta, ducked, and her blade knocked against the sickles, jarring Sat's arms. Her clenched teeth ached from the impact.

With a few quick thrusts, Sat had Marta's long sword caught between her sickles. And with a joint-wrenching pull and a quick twist of the arms, Marta's sword flew out of her hands and onto the ground.

Sat grinned with triumph and picked up Marta's sword.

"Good match", she said to Marta, handing the sword over.

Marta smiled. "You are very skilled, I envy your speed."

"Well, maybe we can fight next time", suggested Sat.

"I'm fighting Zenith next week. There's little chance of that."

"Zenith?" Sat was surprised. Zenith was the champion of all the houses of the Upper House. "I'm sorry…" It was turning awkward now.

"No need to feel pity for me. What the Architect has planned must come". Marta's smile was fading, turning into a scowl. She turned on her heel and strode away, her long legs moving her farther and farther away from Sat.

Sat pursed her lips, and she too walked away.

The next week, Zenith beat everyone set against her. Zenith was the champion and no one could stop her.

Sat tried to forget Marta and her friendliness. It was hard.

But, after all, a fighter must lose her friends. It was just a part of life.

Sat felt that way until Madame Roisoeur announced that she was to fight Zenith in a month's time.

When Sat asked about it, Madame Roisoeur said that the annual championship match called for the champion of all the houses versus someone from each house. Roisoeur explained that she could not afford to lose her best fighter and that Sat was expendable. Therefore, it would be fine if Sat was killed.

Sat was dismayed. But then, if she could beat Zenith, then she might win her freedom from the arena.


	7. Interlude in the Dayroom

Arthur was in the meeting room, sitting on the largest seat, the throne. Dame Primus was to his right, flipping through the pages of the Agenda.

"I don't see why I have to attend those fights. They're cruel and bloodthirsty. It's violent and stupid." Arthur was angry at Dame Primus, as usual.

"Her Superiority created those fights. If you want to be Lord of the Upper House, then you should do what Her Superiority did. After all, my lord would not want his citizens to rebel, if their favorite sport was abolished." Dame Primus was smooth with her words.

Arthur sighed. He'd try to get out of stuff he didn't want to do, but Dame Primus had a way with words that suavely persuaded him into the direction she wanted.

But he couldn't just fire her. Primus knew all the rules of the house, and was an invaluable advisor.

"You know what? I think I'll go now. Meeting suspended until tomorrow." Arthur pushed his throne back. It used to be hard, but now that he was a Denizen, he had the strength to do it. It made a loud scraping sound on the marble floor. Without a look behind him, Arthur passed through the twenty foot arched doors.

He didn't even push his chair back, like a good little boy. He was sick of being a good little boy, following Primus's rules and regulations, obeying her "suggestions". He wanted to go home and visit his family. He hadn't been to Earth for almost a year.

But his family thought he was gone for a few hours.

That was the problem with the House. The time differences.

He went to his chambers, where Mister Monday had had his Roman villa. Now it was a drab looking museum, with busts of him (no surprise there; Primus had outfitted the House with representations of the Lord of the Universe.)

But Arthur's room was his sanctuary. No one could enter without permission, or be blasted by the powers of the Keys. Arthur smirked.

When Arthur was within a foot of the door, it swung open by itself. Magic was always useful.

His room had a four poster bed, with curtains. The blue cover was embroidered with golden suns, his symbol.

There was a desk, a sturdy oaken affair, cluttered with papers and other items. On his walls hung a sword, and some posters.

There was guitar propped against the bedpost. Arthur picked it up and jumped on the bed, tuning it.

It had been ages, but he remembered the notes. Decades of practice in the House had honed his skills. He had learned to play to pass the time between endless days.

As Arthur played, his thoughts wandered to the tickets on his messy desk, tickets to the Annual Championship Match in the Upper House. Dame Primus was certainly going to force him to watch that.


End file.
